


Same song (to a different beat).

by withoutwords



Category: due South
Genre: First Date, M/M, Realisations, Tumblr Prompt, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 19:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4637250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withoutwords/pseuds/withoutwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That Fraser that everyone else sees, or thinks they see, he’s standing in Ray’s apartment. </p><p>“It has changed,” Ray hears himself say on a breath, and Fraser squints at him just a little.</p><p>“What has, Ray?”</p><p>“Us.”</p><p>“Ah.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Same song (to a different beat).

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt over on [tumblr](http://inhonorofdsanon.tumblr.com) _what you like isn't what everyone else likes_ which spurred the idea for the plot, and some of the fic, but it sort of took on a mind of its own. I rarely write in this fandom, I struggle a lot, so it was lovely to have some negative attention inspire a positive story :)

Ray checks his hair in the mirror – again – twists and tugs and runs a flat palm along the top. It looks… the same. Everything’s the same, from the floor up. The boots, the jeans, the t-shirt, the jacket. The bracelets and rings and the packet of bubblegum in his breast pocket. Nothing’s changed, that he can tell, and he’d know something like that wouldn’t he? He’d had one of those things, those queer feelings, and Fraser would ask him if he was alright.

Fraser. Fraser standing so close they were toe to toe, ducking his head enough that Ray could smell the skin at his throat. H²O and ozone, something so organic it couldn’t be anyone else. Fraser asking, _would you care to accompany me_ , and Ray saying, _sure, Fraser, yeah_ , and that smile, after. Had the smile changed? 

“ _C’mon_ ,” Ray mutters to himself, shaking out his hands. He’s jittery at the heels like he’s about to go twelve rounds in the ring; which, honestly, was probably easier than facing the thought of what this might be. Of what it is. “It’s just dinner, get a grip.” 

Garlic bread, lasagne, a little wine maybe. The same as they’d always done, splitting the bill and arguing by the car (because Fraser said he’d walk the ten blocks home), and saying goodnight, see you tomorrow. The same, a tradition, like all the other things they did together. Working, investigating, catching the bad guy. That hadn’t changed. 

At least, not completely. Last week they’d caught one, and Fraser had _lost it_. He’d hunched down onto the ground in a fit of giggles, clutching at his stomach, and when Ray had snapped at him, _what the hell are you doing, Fraser?_ , he hadn’t been slightly bothered. He’d said “You know, Ray, my father once told me that you should never chase a man over a cliff.”

 _There hadn’t even been a cliff_. There had been the Lake thing, at the start, and the Butch Cassidy routine before they’d almost split up. There’d been smashed windows and collapsed ceilings but, but that was the same as it had always been. No chase, no cliff, no -

Fraser was a freak. That definitely hadn’t changed.

When there’s a knock at the door Ray shouts, “Coming,” before doing a final check in the mirror. Check, check, check, like he’s going to be any happier with what he sees than when he looked thirty seconds ago. Like it should matter.

“Ah, Ray,” Fraser says when Ray opens the door, wearing his civilian clothes and carrying the hat. “Good evening.”

“Hey, Frase.” Ray opens the door a little wider, hands quickly submerged into his pockets to stop them from shaking. The hallway’s cool but Ray feels his skin going hot, feels young and stupid. He’s got to be stupid. “Dief’s not with you?”

“Uh, no, I - ” Fraser pauses to poke his tongue out _and_ wipe at his eyebrow. If Ray needed a sign that he wasn’t the only one feeling this way then that was probably it. “He’ll no doubt ignore me for the rest of the week but I decided that it was best for him to stay at the Consulate. You know, given the establishment we’re going to, and how he’ll only be stuck waiting outside for us, it didn’t seem prudent - ”

“Got it,” Ray cuts in, giving the poor guy a break. “No wolf.”

“Right. Yes. No wolf.”

“Well, let me get my keys and my phone and we’re outta here.”

“Very well.”

Ray stumbles back in, doing a quick check around for his things. A good half hour spent fussing over his reflection, talking himself in and out and in and out of whatever this was, or wasn’t, and he hadn’t thought to be ready to walk out the door. He liked to call Fraser a freak, but he’d always known it was him that was the freak. Seeing too much, and thinking too much, and he couldn’t get the little things right like _where he left his damn keys_.

He shuffles through papers and throws around loose clothing and checks the really stupid places like the cabinets or the fridge. One time Fraser had put them on top of the turtle tank because _I know you like to look at it, Ray_ , and so yeah, they were always doing weird things like that. They were a bit weird. That was the same. 

“Ray.”

Fraser’s standing by the sofa, his edges soft and his head dipped just a little. He plays at the brim of his hat with his fingers, looks over from the top of his gaze. _Shit_ , Ray thinks, _shit_ , because it _has_ changed. Because the guy standing in his apartment is _that_ guy. The one they’re all after - the beady-eyed bystanders, the narrowly-escaped and ever grateful victims, the wheeling, dealing, embittered people moulding Fraser’s goodness in a way that suited them – the one they all _want_.

 _That_ Fraser that everyone else sees, or thinks they see, he’s standing in Ray’s apartment. 

“It has changed,” Ray hears himself say on a breath, and Fraser squints at him just a little.

“What has, Ray?”

“Us.”

“Ah.”

Fraser doesn’t deny it. Ray’s half glad for that at least, because it means he hasn’t completely lost his mind. Fraser comes in closer, Ray’s feet stuck to the floor and his heart in his throat somewhere, maybe trying to tell him _use this and say what you mean_. He’s a freak and he’s stupid and it’s all changed – but he’s always let his heart do the driving.

“Ray, do you remember last week when I had something of a… humorous breakdown?”

“The laughing, you mean?” Ray croaks out, and Fraser’s little nod is almost invisible to the naked eye.

“Yes. Do you remember what I said?”

“That you should never chase a man over a cliff.”

Fraser looks impressed by his recall, and Ray almost rolls his eyes. Most people are wooed by good looks and great taste in music, but not Fraser. Fraser likes practical things like how to tie a knot or read a map or tell a story from the Northwest Territories using only a stick and some ice. “Yes. Well, the truth is, Ray, I – I realised I’d been doing a lot of that lately.”

“I don’t get it.”

“See,” Fraser’s even closer now, Ray’s sure of it, getting those familiar wafts of soap and earth and Chicago air. He’s like home, he’s Ray’s shelter, he doesn’t want it to change. “Last month I disobeyed at least a dozen of Inspector Thatcher’s direct orders - ”

“Hey, that was in the name of - ”

“I told Lieutenant Welsh a bold faced lie just to buy you time so you - ”

Ray smirks. “Did you lose sleep over that one?”

“I fought with you, and I joked with you, and I turned the other cheek when you used methods of persuasion on the suspect that I might have otherwise found unnecessary when I was - ”

“Fraser, I’m not hearing nothing about cliffs here, would you get to the - ”

Fraser hauls Ray close by his elbows and presses his mouth, dry and firm, to Ray’s own. Ray makes a noise, a moan or a grunt or some hybrid of both and then his mouth is open for it. It’s slick, and sweet, and he thinks he tastes lemon, lime, his hands curled in the collar of Fraser’s jacket like an anchor. He’s washed up here, the two of them some island, and he’s holding on for dear life.

“The point, Ray,” Fraser says in this gravely way that Ray’s never heard before, his forehead pressed to Ray’s and Ray still unable to open his eyes. He felt the kiss like a freefall, downwards, and now it webs out over every inch of him. “The point is, I suppose, that we _haven’t_ changed.”

“You don’t think?”

“No,” he says, and he smiles, the corner of his mouth quirked a little and Ray imagines how it would feel on his skin. The same smile and the same smell, and the same way of politely saying, _I like you a lot and I want to stop pretending that doesn’t involve sex_ , and this is _his_ Fraser.

Fraser who nods, and tips his hat and says good day to the bystanders and the victims and all the people, so many people – that’s not for Ray. Ray, Ray gets bickering over the edge of a cliff until all that’s left is to cling to each other. 

“We didn’t have to change, did we?” Fraser says. “We still arrived right here.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr.](http://thefancyspin.tumblr.com)


End file.
